


Warmth

by drosera



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drosera/pseuds/drosera
Summary: Hubert transgresses. Ferdinand yields.-For the 3houseskinkmeme prompt: "Hubert hypnotizing Ferdinand. Does not necessarily need to be consensual. Can be as tame or filthy as you like. Ferdinand can't come until Hubert permits him to. Optional: added elements of somnophilia."
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 181
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags and the prompt, and make your decisions accordingly. 
> 
> CW: Dub-con, heavy on the dub. If you need explicit consent in a fic, this is definitely not for you. This is hypnosis and mind-control. If you have triggers for these things and related, I would move on.

Ferdinand has a certain underlying grace. 

Not easily noticed, Hubert muses, buried amid layers and layers of noise and bravado. In motion, Ferdinand exists in a perpetual state of dazzle camouflage that makes it almost necessary for Hubert to look away after a certain point. He has no sense of volume, his enthusiasm ever-ebullient, his joy so difficult to dampen once stoked. 

Ferdinand’s eyelashes are surprisingly light, fanning over a glazed expression. They flutter near-imperceptibly. His hand holding the candle remains poised with nigh a waver. Hubert could reach out and touch him. He studies the thick tumble of hair spilling over Ferdinand’s shoulders, the auburn ringlets framing a paper-thin nightshirt and a chest flushed with surprise and the cold of the night breeze. Ferdinand is pale and flushes easily. His chest, his cheeks, the tips of his ears. Are they still warm to the touch in this unnatural stillness? 

Hubert can’t even blame himself, not really. He does not sleep these nights, wandering the frigid stone castle corridors at odd hours, poring over once-banned-now-unearthed tomes by mage light. Anything to get ahead of their foes. They are so close. They are so much closer than they have ever been. Hubert can taste the ruddy metal iron of his own determination in his mouth these nights. His mind feels burdened with new magic, splitting at the seams with it. It’s no wonder that one of those seams frayed and snapped. 

Hubert reasons that it could have been anyone. It might as well be Ferdinand. Ferdinand will forgive him. 

The incantation had passed from his lips unbidden like a missed stitch, the shock of auburn hair and bright eyes around the corner too sudden for Hubert’s predator-prey brain. A simple spell to bind the target like a puppet to one’s own will. 

Will Ferdinand forgive him for this?

Hubert steps closer and takes the candle from Ferdinand’s fingers. Ferdinand lets him, ever-still. His gaze does not flicker to Hubert. It’s alarming, Hubert realizes. Ferdinand was never meant to be so placid. 

The spell will wear off in about an hour or so, Hubert reasons, and the only right thing is to put Ferdinand to bed. He can sleep it off, perhaps with some odd dreams, and be none the wiser to Hubert’s usual night-owl strangeness. They’re not far from Ferdinand’s rooms. Hubert is thankful for the flickering warmth of the candle as he bids Ferdinand to follow, a single whispered word. Ferdinand does. 

“Open the door,” Hubert whispers, and Ferdinand does. 

They both enter Ferdinand’s room, a mix of decadence and comfort as expected. The coverlet has been thrown off the bed, a seeming fit of restlessness. 

Hubert could just tell Ferdinand to go to sleep and leave. He should. 

Ferdinand glows, illuminated in pale moonlight. He looks at Hubert, his eyes unfocused. Peaceful. Hubert watches the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. A pale collarbone, a chest hard with muscle but with skin looking soft to the touch. 

Not looking. Feeling. Hubert is touching Ferdinand before he even realizes it. Ferdinand does not shy away from him. He does not lean into the touch, nor away from it. His breathing remains steady, yet his ears do seem to hold a blush. He should not be doing this, Hubert thinks with a tight chest as he removes his gloves to feel the warmth of that skin. He should not be so easy to tempt. He should not be feeling Ferdinand’s infernal warmth, the slight down of chest hair underneath Hubert’s long fingers. He should not be reaching and parting the collar of Ferdinand’s diaphanous nightshirt. 

“Take that off,” is what Hubert should not be saying, but he does. He can feel his heartbeat radiating from his chest down his limbs to the tips of this fingers, in the heat of his face. He envies Ferdinand’s steadiness of breath. He gives Ferdinand space and watches as Ferdinand mechanically takes off his shirt, revealing more sun kissed skin. There are freckles, dotting his torso like errant constellations. Hubert wants to taste them. He feels like a man starved for so long being presented with a feast. He runs his hands all over Ferdinand’s body, feeling the planes of muscle and softness at once. He can feel Ferdinand’s breath quicken. He can feel his own hardness straining against the front of his pants. He does not tilt his hips forward, too busy focusing on Ferdinand’s near-imperceptible but still-apparent responses to his touch. Still Ferdinand remains unmoving, obedient. 

“I want you to suck me,” is what Hubert should not say, but he does. It’s not a command, he reasons. It’s a wish. 

Ferdinand’s facial expression does not change. He simply kneels. Hubert places the candle down on the nightstand with a shaking hand and waits. He watches Ferdinand unlace the front of his trousers with effortless grace. Has he done this before? Is the smoothness an effect of the spell, or something innate in Ferdinand’s understanding? Can he really do something like this by instinct without full consciousness? Hubert feels his cock jump into Ferdinand’s warm hands as he pulls his hardness out of his underthings. It’s so fast, so soon. They haven’t even kissed, Hubert thinks frantically. Were they ever going to kiss? 

Ferdinand’s hot breath on his cock surprises a moan out of him. Hubert grits his teeth but it’s too late. The ensuing warmth, the slick wetness of Ferdinand’s mouth is too much for him. He slumps against the wall as Ferdinand brackets his hips, movements mechanical but not altogether gentle. Ferdinand’s mouth is red and flushed with effort, slick with drool as he eases Hubert’s way into his throat, holds him there before pulling back. Hubert fears he will spend in that mouth too soon. 

“Slowly,” Hubert commands. 

Can Ferdinand feel the tremor in his voice, so focused on his task at hand? Hubert looks down and realizes that for all of Ferdinand’s perfect subservience, he is hard as well. He brushes his boot against Ferdinand’s groin, testing. Ferdinand does not thrust against him, teasing his tongue along the crown of Hubert’s cock. 

“Touch yourself,” Hubert gasps, and Ferdinand does— reaches into his breeches and undoes them one-handed, Hubert’s cock still hot and heavy on his tongue. Hubert can feel his jagged breathing around him even as Ferdinand’s face remains slack and impassive. 

Ferdinand’s cock is beautiful because of course it is, pleasantly pink and thick and curved, the head obscenely wet as Ferdinand’s strong lancer hands spread pre-cum up and down the shaft. Even this part of him is too-beautiful. He drips on the antique carpet, a picture of decadence perfectly framed. 

Even in this, Ferdinand manages to be loud while saying nothing at all. His hand moves methodically at his own cock, his mouth still wet and pulling embarrassing gasps out of Hubert. Hubert finally, finally gives into months—years—of temptation and runs his hands through those thick waves of hair, grasping a handful of curls as he thrusts into Ferdinand’s wet mouth. 

He is so close. He is past reason. 

“Tell me you want this,” Hubert rasps.

“I want this,” Ferdinand replies, and oh, his voice is so soft this way, so kind even in its monotone, Hubert feels himself breaking. 

“Tell me you want my come on your face. Tell me to give it to you. Stick out your tongue.” Hubert pulls Ferdinand off his cock and tilts his head upward towards him. 

“Give me your come, Hubert,” says Ferdinand, and he closes his eyes, sticks out his tongue. 

“Now look at me.”

Ferdinand does. 

Hubert lurches forward and comes, his orgasm wrenched out of him at the sight of Ferdinand’s bright eyes turned skyward at him like a prayer. He pulses hot over Ferdinand’s tongue, his chin, his cheeks. Ferdinand blinks placidly, unwavering. 

Hubert’s mind is cleared, but only slightly. Ferdinand is still hard and awaiting instructions, Hubert’s cum still hot on his tongue. With a shaking hand Hubert reaches towards Ferdinand’s face and strokes his cheek, gathering his spend, cleaning him slightly but not entirely. 

“Swallow the rest.” Ferdinand does, his uncomprehending gaze still on Hubert’s face.

“Get on the bed and remove your trousers. Lie on your back.” Of course, Ferdinand does. He does not move to brush away the rest of Hubert’s spend. He is a vision on the bed, his lithe and strong body open to Hubert in a way that Hubert has never seen from anyone. Hubert climbs onto the bed beside him and kneels between his legs. “Touch yourself again.” He watches Ferdinand reach for his cock and resume his ministrations. “Get yourself to the edge.” Hubert reaches between Ferdinand’s legs with his hand still coated with his own spending, still slick. He circles Ferdinand’s hole. Ferdinand is trembling beneath him, his breaths quick. 

“Are you close, Ferdinand?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” replies Ferdinand. His voice is dull and breathy. Hubert imagines what it would sound unbound by magic, the range in tones and volume, how it would soar and pitch. He teases Ferdinand’s rim until it relaxes under his touch, his body responding to Hubert’s gentle circling. 

“Fuck yourself on my hands,” Hubert growls. His blood still pounds hot in his ears and he wonders if he will get hard again, watching this strange display of bound wantonness. 

“Yes,” Ferdinand gasps. His shaky breaths disrupt his monotone as he lowers himself into Hubert’s finger, then another. Hubert curls his fingers inside and Ferdinand trembles further. His legs are shaking, knees turning inwards like he wants to arch off the bed but cannot. Hubert fucks into him with increasing fervency, leaning over him for better leverage. He grabs Ferdinand by the hip and pulls him forward, folding him near in half. Ferdinand looks so hard it must be painful. His blush has intensified on his cheeks and chest, his breaths coming faster.

“Will you come for me like this, on my fingers?” Hubert asks.

“Y-yes,” Ferdinand gasps.

“Then come.”

Ferdinand arches, a small moan escaping from his lips as he spills with force, hot arcs that splatter his stomach and chest. It’s beautiful, even so restrained. Hubert watches with wonder as Ferdinand breathes through his orgasm, seemingly unbothered by the streaks of his spend now cooling on his hot skin.

Realizing that Ferdinand is still entranced, he gently removes his fingers. Ferdinand does not react except with a hitch of breath. He stares at Hubert impassively and without judgement. 

It’s only right to clean them both up, Hubert reasons. Ferdinand will not care, cannot care. Hubert is not sure of this, not really. Nevertheless he cleans them both up with a handkerchief, carelessly disposed over the side of the bed. 

He looks at Ferdinand, a picture of erotic ruination and contentment. Even without his usual expression, his body has settled. Hubert cannot leave him like this. He should. He should absolutely leave.

“I will stay.” Hubert’s words seem to echo even as they float barely-audible in the heavy dark of the bedroom. The candle flame flickers at the end of its near-burnt stub. 

Ferdinand, as if obeying an unspoken commend, moves over. Hubert pulls the covers over them. Warm. Even here, he is so warm.


End file.
